


TieGuanYin

by Taciturn



Series: Obey Me! Shenanigans [5]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Gen, Mostly Fluff, gender neutral reader, more like a character study, non-genre, there's a reference to goddesses but nothing specific to the reader, very slightly AU due to mentions of the sun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26173234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taciturn/pseuds/Taciturn
Summary: Teatime with Barbatos is always a magical thing.
Relationships: Barbatos & Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Barbatos (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Barbatos (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Series: Obey Me! Shenanigans [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837717
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	TieGuanYin

Tea with two sugar cubes and the smallest splash of milk. Just enough to make the bitter brew palatable to you. The swirls of white meld into the dark liquid swimming and dancing in time with the silver spoon pinched between your forefinger and thumb as you mixed your drink to your liking. Not a word between you ever needed to be exchanged during this ritual. It was a sacred moment of peace from the world for the two of you. 

Tea completely black, poured after a second steeping. Steam rising from the fine porcelain of a cup older than time. The gold leaf has peeled at some point but it only adds to the charm of the piece. He’s told you many times he would get to repairing it, but something tells you he finds the imperfection endearing. He waits only a minute and thirty four seconds before taking the first sip of scalding hot tea. 

Barbatos’ long lashes brush his cheeks as he admires the scent and the flavor of tea. You never understood the appeal of tea until he told you to close your eyes. Only then could you see what he tasted.

Assam felt like fields of sunshine and a gentle spring breeze. A forest yonder and mountains on the horizon as far as your eye could see. A world built on scent and comfort all in a single ancient porcelain cup. He only ever chose that for you when the sky was dark and stress loomed over your head. “It’ll give you some energy without making you jittery..” He said, carefully dropping the sugar into your cup before adding the milk. He winks and adds just a drop of honey on top of it all. “For good luck.” 

Roobios was served when the weather was bright and after you spent most of the afternoon in the shade of some tree, catching up on reading. He served it with fresh scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam made last summer. “It’s refreshing even if it’s hot.” he explains, pouring himself a cup and you’re transported into a nest made of the softest sheets. They keep your spirit as warm as the sun you basked in hours ago. Even as the hours passed and it became late, you brought back with you the scent of butter and dried flowers. 

He only ever gave you Darjeeling when you felt down. The hints of citrus and spice always uplifted you just enough to bring you to a bustling market during the harvest season. You could imagine, if only for a moment, the two of you being human enough to wander the crowded alleyways and the cramped stalls. You could pretend that you weren’t oddly alone despite being surrounded by friends. 

You didn’t ask for comfort during those long days. He would patiently wait while you cried whatever feelings you had out until there were nothing but hiccups and stilted sobs. It wasn’t until you’d reach out with trembling fingers that he would sit by your side and let you release the last of your homesickness onto his shoulder. 

It was a burden he bore without words. It was a weight he carried silently with him and a wound he sought to help bandage with shortbread and another cup of Darjeeling. This time, with a touch of honey to help sweeten the bitterness that no doubt welled up from insurmountable loneliness. The bag of candied orange peels he let you bring back with you would tide you over until the next time the weight was too much for you to bear. 

Barbatos couldn’t ask to be a solution; but he could at least be a sanctuary of safety from the chaos. 

He saved the tea from Sun Moon Lake as celebration for all the things you’ve accomplished. He only allowed himself to serve it during the full moon and with rice cakes. It was the only tea he insisted that you drink plain. You were allowed to argue with demons on a daily basis, but his prescriptions on tea were scripture. 

You understood why he was so adamant as it was the only way to taste the faint traces of cooling mint at the back of your tongue while you drank it. Through all the chaos that surrounded you, he always found the best medicine through tea. That night, you counted the stars and drew your own constellations with your head on his shoulder. You told him stories of your home and the traditions that came with the bright harvest moon. 

Chang’e and the bunny on the moon were your best friends and you recounted the timeless words of Li Bai, admiring the beauty of lunar light. While you lamented about the tragedy of poets, he wondered if you realized that you were more beautiful than any celestial goddess you named.

When you mulled over the last cup of the tea that night, he secretly wrote your name between Perseus and Andromeda, wishing he could immortalize his love for you as the stars had. 

He’s burnt the tips of his fingers from drying young tea leaves over a flame. The wounds ached no matter how much salve he put on them. Barbatos floated chrysanthemum petals across the top of your usual milky mixture, letting a little bit of sunlight seep into the murky drink. Two cubes of sugar with a splash of milk and a tonic to fight off weariness was complete. 

Seeing you smile as you sipped the drink that came from his hard work was worth all the pain and he forgot about the blisters hidden behind his gloves. It was hard to think of anything but what heaven looked like when you were happy. “What’s it taste like to you?” 

“Safety.” You replied, taking a crumbling thumbprint cookie between careful fingers and nibbling on it. The crumbs dropped to your uniform, but you were too happy to care. It tasted like home, like where you belonged. You thought of all the comforting things in the world and each image came back to an ornate drawing room where two sets of cups and saucers sat on a silver tray. The only image that stood out was the ritual of brewing tea at the right temperature and the look of concentration on Barbatos’ face as he counted the seconds before he could pour your drink. 

“It tastes like… spending time with you.” 

From that day on, he took his tea with two cubes of sugar and a splash of milk. 


End file.
